Greg McKenzie Mysteries Boxed Set—Books 1-4

by Chester Campbell

  “As I recall, you keep the list of Night Owl Passes at your Johnson Beach office,” I said.

  “That’s right.”

  “I need to know if Evan Baucus holds a pass. Will you be going back there this afternoon?”

  “Within the next hour or two. I could look it up to be sure, but I don’t recall that name.”

  “I’d appreciate it if you would,” I said. “Call and let me know what you find.”

  I went back into the hearing room as they were winding down the questioning of Baucus. Jill whispered that she hadn’t heard anything that struck her as significant. When the proceedings ended just before two o’clock, Redding advised that his staff and the engineering firm conducting the investigation would go through all of the testimony and report their findings in a couple of weeks.

  Baucus, Detrich and Boz carefully avoided us as they left quickly. Walt made an equally hasty departure, saying he needed to get back to Nashville. While walking to the lot where Jill had parked the Camry, I told her about my conversation with Ricky Alvarez.

  “And if Baucus has a Night Owl Pass?” she asked.

  “Then he knows the combination to the gate lock. He would be familiar with the access road to the boat ramp. He could have driven up the beach and walked across. That piece of information would put us much closer to pinning a murder on him.”

  “What next?”

  I shrugged. “We head back to Gulf Sands and wait. That’s the hardest part of an investigation.”

  We had gone only a few blocks, though, when the cell phone rang. Jill answered it. After listening for a couple of minutes, she turned to me.

  “It’s Sherry. She says the tennis center found their records for July fifteenth—they were in the computer. Anyway, Boz was there all afternoon.”

  “They’re sure?”

  “That’s what she said. You want me to ask again?”

  Noting my frown, she asked again. She was quiet for a few moments, then thanked Sherry and ended the call. “Sherry talked to the pro and asked if he was certain about the date. He said he remembered because it was just before he left on vacation. He beat Boz two straight sets that day. Said Boz got so agitated he wouldn’t quit playing until he had won a set.”

  I grinned. This was the opening I had been looking for. I pulled into a nearby service station, found a place to park and called Boz’s office. I figured he would head there after he left the hearing.

  A rather snappish voice answered. “B. F. Inspections. Farnsworth here.”

  “This is Greg McKenzie,” I said. “I need to talk to you right away. I can be there in ten minutes.”

  “Forget it, McKenzie. Didn’t the sheriff warn you to stay away from me?”

  “I have no intention of harassing you,” I said.

  Boz was adamant. “I have nothing to say to you. I can’t tell you any more about Tim Gannon, and I said all I’m going to say about that balcony at the hearing.”

  “I think you had better talk to me before I talk to the building inspector,” I said. I spoke slowly and distinctly. “I know where you were the afternoon the balcony was poured.”

  After a long period of dead air, Boz was back with resignation in his voice. “Come on over.”

  We reached his office in less than ten minutes. We found him sitting behind his desk as before, but considerably less confrontational this time around.

  “Where was I?” he asked, leaning across the desk with a troubled look when we had taken our seats.

  “At the tennis center,” I said. “They have your playing times in their computer. Also, the pro specifically recalls playing with you that afternoon. It was the day before he left on vacation. He beat you two straight sets and said you wouldn’t quit until you won a set. You were not around when they poured that balcony. That’s why you didn’t have any digital photos with your certification report.”

  Boz sat back and folded his arms, fear in his eyes. “What do you plan to do with this?”

  “Forget it...providing you give me straight answers to some questions and back me up, if necessary.”

  “I don’t guess I have any choice, do I?”

  “None.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “You were obviously aware that the rebars and concrete specified in the plans you and Detrich had were insufficient. Why didn’t you speak up?”

  “It appeared to me that Tim Gannon had screwed up.”

  When he paused, I said, “So?”

  “I didn’t say anything because I wanted it to reflect on Tim when the cracks started showing up. I had no idea it would lead to something like the balcony collapsing. That shouldn’t have happened but for the hurricane damage.”

  “You had no inkling that the specs had been changed?”

  “I ignored the possibility. I liked the idea of blaming it on Tim.”

  Jill had certainly been right on track with her assessment of Boz’s jealousy. But I still hadn’t come up with the information I was really after.

  “Did Claude Detrich say or do anything to make you suspicious?” I asked.

  “He told me not to let Tim see my copy of the plans.”

  “Why?”

  “Said he was having trouble with Tim over some items that would save money.”

  “What kind of items?”

  “Minor things, like plumbing fixtures.”

  I nodded. “Did he indicate the plans had been altered?”

  “Detrich never admitted anything, but I got the feeling some changes had been made before I got my copy of the plans. Why else would he not want me showing them to Tim?”

  “Do you think Baucus would have had anything to do with altering the plans?”

  Boz sneered. “Ha. If he wasn’t a part of it, he knew everything that went on. But I’d say he organized the deal. He wants everybody to know he’s in charge. And he was the one who insisted on doing whatever was necessary to save money.”

  “Did he pay you anything to keep you quiet?”

  “Hell, no!” He said it a little too loudly, I thought, considering what his old college roommate had said about him. But I let it go.

  “Okay,” I said. “Here’s the deal. Jill is a witness to everything you’ve told me. When I paint the picture the way you described things, I expect you to back me up if necessary. As long as you cooperate, we forget about the tennis center.”

  The cell phone in my pocket beeped. I pulled out the phone and answered.

  “Hi, Greg. This is Red.” He sounded excited. “Your prints paid off. They belong to a guy named Wilson Fletcher. Last known address: Cheyenne, Wyoming.”

  “Great job, Red,” I said. “I’ll get right onto it.”

  “Let me know if you need anything else.”

  “Will do.” I punched the off button.

  Then I looked back at Boz, who appeared a little more relaxed now that he seemed to have things under control again. “Don’t forget our deal,” I said. “We’ll get back to you if we need you.”

  Chapter 51

  On the drive back to Gulf Sands, I outlined my plan for Jill. There were still some holes to plug. I didn’t have everything I needed yet, and success depended on each little piece falling into place. We drove up in front of the condo around 3:30. As we approached, I watched carefully for any sign of strangers keeping the building under surveillance. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. To play it safe, I parked at the opposite end from where my Jeep sat.

  At the entrance to our unit, I checked the small piece of broom straw I had closed the door on as a telltale. It was still in place, meaning no one had opened the door while we were gone.

  “I’d better get onto my exercises,” Jill said as I let her in. “I’ve been sitting around all day.”

  “Not all day,” I said. “You made a rather productive jaunt out to The Sand Castle this morning.”

  She grinned. “I’m glad you have come to appreciate my investigative talents.”

  I gave her a kiss and a pat on the
bottom. “I have long known you possess many talents, babe.”

  While she headed to the bedroom for her stretching routine, I sat down with the telephone and called the police headquarters in Cheyenne, Wyoming. I got a sergeant who seemed quite knowledgeable about the town and its inhabitants. As soon as he heard the name Wilson Fletcher, his voice roared through the phone.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve found the son-of-a-bitch!”

  “I believe I have,” I said.

  “Dead or alive?”

  “Very much alive.”

  “You sure it’s him?”

  “Unless he borrowed the fingerprints. Goes by the name Evan Baucus.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He’s president of a real estate development firm. They’re involved in a high rise condo just outside Pensacola, Florida.”

  “Damn. I knew him pretty well,” the sergeant said. “I ran into him a lot of times fishing on the Crow River. He was always full of bullshit. He was certainly capable of pulling off something like that.”

  “I’m told he claims to have been to law school but never took the bar exam.”

  “Yeah? Fact is, he was disbarred as a lawyer here for falsifying documents in real estate transactions.”

  Apparently he had parlayed his real estate knowledge into the big time.

  “Have the authorities in Wyoming been looking for him?” I asked.

  “Not for a while. He pulled a disappearing act five or six years ago. Left his wife and daughter. Wife filed a missing persons report. He’s pretty clever, though. Didn’t leave a trace.”

  “He’s got a new wife,” I said. “They live in Biloxi, Mississippi.”

  “The hell you say. And he’s doing real estate projects, huh? That’s how he got in trouble, you know, handling legal stuff for local developers. Wonder where he got his money?”

  “I don’t know,” I said.

  But I had some real good ideas. I suspected Perseid, Ltd. with its mob connections had provided his new identity and the money to finance his ventures. I thanked the sergeant for his help and promised to call back as soon as I learned anything else.

  I walked into the bedroom where Jill sat tugging on her pulley. “I’ve got some news you can relay to Greta next time you see her,” I said.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Wilson Fletcher, alias Evan Baucus, has a wife and daughter back in Wyoming.”

  She grinned. “Oh, boy. She’s not going to like that.”

  “I think you’re right. Are you about finished there?”

  “This arm is about to finish me.” She removed her hands from the grips and flexed her fingers. “I miss flying my plane, Greg. I’ve got to get through this.” She smiled, dismissing it. “Somewhere we need to go?”

  “If I don’t hear from Ricky soon, we should head over to the Seashore.”

  She headed toward the kitchen. “How about a cappuccino while you wait?”

  I nodded. “I’ll be out on the balcony.”

  While Jill fixed our drinks, I sat in one of the white plastic lounge chairs and tried to let my mind roam free. Maybe something crucial about the case would slip in unbidden. That was my hope, anyway. I checked my watch, which showed shortly after four. Sundown, when the park closed, would be around five now that we were back on standard time. We’d have to leave soon.

  High in the sky a small plane with a red tail, indicating a Navy trainer, flew toward the shore. Two surfers were out in the water just below Gulf Sands, attempting to ride the breakers with limited success. Though the waves were not particularly high, the surfers were obviously rookies. They spent more time in the water than on their boards. As I watched them, Jill came out with our cappuccino and set the cups on the low plastic table between our chairs.

  “Have you got it all figured out yet?” she asked as she took her seat.

  “Not quite,” I said. “I have that old uneasy feeling that I’m missing something. Something that’s right in front of my eyes but I can’t see it.”

  She grinned. “Seems like we’ve been there and done that before.”

  I shrugged. The feeling was hardly new, but one I always hated to come across. It’s like the sensation that there’s a sprig of hair on your lip, yet when you look in the mirror, you see nothing. It’s the sort of feeling that can drive you crazy.

  As I sipped my drink, the phone rang. I answered it, holding crossed fingers toward Jill.

  “This is Ranger Alvarez,” he said. “Sorry it took so long, but I just got back over here.”

  “Have you found anything?” I asked.

  “You guessed right. Evan Baucus is on the list. It’s been nearly a year since he got his pass. That’s probably why the name didn’t ring a bell.”

  Chapter 52

  I told Alvarez we wanted to drop by and see him. Before leaving, I played my surveillance tape. There was lots of activity around the parking area, but no one came near my Jeep. Feeling confident the vehicle had not been tampered with, I decided to give it a once-over anyway, then drive it to the National Seashore. As I told Jill, I wanted everything to look perfectly normal.

  It was close to five when we parked beside the ranger’s car and found him in his small office.

  “Here’s the list,” he said. He pointed to a computer printout on his desk.

  I looked down and saw the name Evan Baucus. I thought I had found the last piece of the puzzle, but then I spotted a cell phone lying on the ranger’s desk and a bright light flashed on in my head. I looked so startled that Jill wondered if I was having a heart attack.

  “Nope,” I said. “Remember my saying something was missing that should have been right in front of my eyes? Well, I just got a clue and it shook me up.”

  “What clue?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Ranger Alvarez just stared at us, bemused.

  Now that all the pieces had fallen into place, I had to structure the showdown. So far, I had a case built only on circumstantial evidence. I needed something more.

  I described my plan to Alvarez and he agreed to cooperate.

  I called Baucus’ cell phone.

  “This is Greg McKenzie,” I said. “I’ve come up with some crucial information I’m sure you’ll want to know about.”

  “Information on what?”

  “On you and The Sand Castle project and Tim Gannon. I’ve finally put it all together.”

  “What are you talking about, McKenzie? Put what all together?”

  “What happened that Friday night when the balcony fell and Tim died. Meet me over at the National Seashore at seven o’clock, on the road to the boat launching area, where Tim’s Blazer was found.”

  “It’s already past sundown,” Baucus said in a testy voice. “The gate will be locked.”

  “That’s right,” I said. “And you have the combination. You got it with your Night Owl Pass. I saw your name on the list.”

  His voice carried uncertainty, maybe fear. “What are you driving at, McKenzie?”

  “I know who killed Tim,” I said. “Just be there at seven. I’ll be in my brown Jeep Grand Cherokee. Oh, and bring your wife along. I think she’ll be interested in hearing all that I have to say.”

  When I hung up the phone, Jill frowned at me. “Are they coming?”

  I nodded. “They’ll be here.”

  “I’m looking forward to the showdown,” she said, smiling.

  I shook my head. “Too dangerous. I want you to wait for me over here at the beach. I’ll come back for you as soon as it’s over.”

  She stood with hands firmly planted on her hips, eyes smoldering, a determined look on her face. “We’re in this together, remember? If it’s too dangerous for me, it’s too dangerous for you. Either I go or we call it off.”

  And she’s the one who called me hard-headed. I knew when she got in this kind of mood, arguing was useless. But after what had happened to her a year ago, I couldn’t see putting her in harm’s way again. So I argued anyway.


  “You’ve done your part, babe. You got some of the key bits of information we needed. Now the job is up to me. Your presence might be a distraction.”

  “For who, you or them?”

  “Either of us.”

  “Come on, Greg. We were there together the last time they saw us. If you want everything to appear perfectly normal and non-threatening, we should be together now.”

  She had a point. And more to the point, clearly she did not intend to back down. So, reluctantly, I agreed for her to go with me.

  Chapter 53

  Shortly before seven, we stepped out of the Jeep, which I had parked where Tim’s Blazer had been found, and stood in the middle of the road. I had switched off the lights and the night was dark, the woods on both sides of us filled with indistinct shapes of bushes and trees. Jill tugged her jacket tighter as a chilling breeze swept toward us from the shore, bringing with it the chatter of unseen insects and an unpleasant odor. Likely from the remains of a dead animal nearby.

  “It’s creepy in here,” she said. She kept her voice low, as if some nosy beach mouse might be listening.

  “It may get even creepier before it’s over.”

  The glow of headlights suddenly appeared in the direction of Johnson Beach, and a vehicle moved slowly toward us. As the car pulled in behind my Jeep, I could make out Evan Baucus’ blue Mercedes. The door opened and he stepped into the road, leaving the headlights on. He wore khaki pants and shirt and what appeared to be a padded gray vest. A figure in dark slacks and jacket scraped past the bushes, coming around from the passenger side. When she moved into the light, I saw the blonde hair of Greta Baucus.

  “I suppose you wanted to see my fishing outfit,” Baucus said, sarcasm in his voice. “So now you know.”

  Both the pants and vest had bulky pockets that would make excellent places to conceal a weapon, I noted.

  “I just found out today about your penchant for fishing,” I said.

  “Let’s get on with it, McKenzie. This had better be good. I’ve been on the verge of calling the sheriff to complain about your butting into matters that are none of your business.”